


look'd up in perfect silence at the stars

by FullmetalChords



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy Era, Astrology, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords
Summary: Dimitri gets away for a moment of quiet during the feast following the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Claude follows him.Written for day 3 of Dimiclaude Week, "stars".
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 156





	look'd up in perfect silence at the stars

The victory feast following the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was meant to be a dignified celebration, a congratulations for a battle well-fought. Or at least, in Dimitri’s mind it was. 

The whole feast had been Claude’s idea, even though his house hadn’t won the battle. For the Blue Lions, the feast began as a nice, quiet dinner among housemates, reliving moments of glory from the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and reveling in their cameraderie and teamwork. A sort of trial run for the royal feasts Dimitri will hold in the decades to come, sitting in his father’s place at the head of the throne.

And that’s what it was, at least until the Golden Deer decided to crash at their table.

“We raided Manuela’s liquor cabinet!” Raphael roars in delight, holding up four bottles of fine wine. Behind him, his housemates clutch similar bottles, looking only slightly embarrassed by his boisterousness. “Now it’s a _real_ party!”

Things got slightly out of hand after that.

There wasn’t quite enough alcohol to go around to make any of them too inebriated, but Sylvain still challenged Felix to a drinking contest, both of them chugging watered-down wine straight from the bottle, while Raphael challenged Dedue to an arm wrestling contest and Lysithea started shrieking at Mercedes for telling scary stories around the table. And then Leonie had started yelling at Caspar, claiming that of _course_ Jeralt could beat Catherine in a fight, and what was he _talking_ about, and Caspar had drawn Ferdinand into the debate, and before long there was a spirited debate going around the dining hall about whether lances were really superior to swords at all, which Edelgard certainly had a lot to say about.

So there was some arguing, yes, some competitiveness… but there has never been a moment, this entire school year, where the whole student body was united in this way, laughing and eating and drinking and talking as one single group of people. House rivalries forgotten, politics set aside — if only for one night. Never mind that they’d been battling for honor mere hours before. 

Tonight, at this feast, all three houses sit and celebrate together as one. 

Dimitri, only one chalice deep into Manuela’s stolen wine, can’t help but smile, feeling warm as he watches his friends egg one another on. He loves seeing everyone together like this, without house boundaries or national loyalties creating divisions among themselves. 

But still, he is feeling a bit warm. He quietly excuses himself by getting up from the table, leaving the dining hall so he can take a moment to feel the cool night air on his heated skin.

It’s a clear night; the stars and moon are both out, bathing the bare treetops of Garreg Mach in a silvery glow. Dimitri tips his head back to observe the sky, taking another slow sip of wine as he does so. There’s something peaceful about being out here so late at night, with nothing between him and the night sky. Looking at the stars always empties Dimitri’s head, giving him something to focus aside from the turmoil that always seems to churn inside him. But the stars above him — steady, bright, forming familiar patterns that his father had taught him — are always a comfort. 

“Ah, so here’s where you escaped to, your Princeliness.”

Dimitri turns to see Claude sauntering toward him, an expectant eyebrow raised.

“My apologies,” Dimitri says as Claude reaches his side. “I did not wish to abandon the festivities. I simply needed some air.”

“Mm.” Claude playfully bumps his shoulder with Dimitri’s, his hands sliding into the pockets of his uniform jacket. “Can’t fault you for that. Feasts aren’t really your thing, huh?”

Dimitri hums, looking into his chalice. 

“I do not… dislike them, particularly. But I do not find them very relaxing, either.”

“I guess we didn’t help, did we?” Claude shrugs, not looking particularly sorry. “You know how Raphael is, once he gets an idea in his head…”

“Yes,” says Dimitri drily. “I am certain the infiltration of Professor Manuela’s private stores was all Raphael’s idea.” He gives Claude a stern look… then starts tittering, unable to help himself. “My humor is improving,” he tells Claude, “would you not agree?”

Claude looks at him, amazed.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” he says, incredulous. “Are you drunk?”

Dimitri calms his laughter, then shakes his head.

“I do not believe so,” he says. He looks into his glass again. It’s a stronger wine than he’s used to — a port, he thinks — but it is only his first glass. And boys his age drinking is not altogether uncommon back in Faerghus, particularly after a young man has drawn his first blood. 

“Let me see that.” Claude takes Dimitri’s cup from his hands, takes a sip, then grimaces. “Skies above, Your Princeliness. This tastes like syrup! How can you stand it?”

Dimitri shrugs. “Is it? I could not tell.” He takes the glass back, taking a careful sniff; the wine does smell sweet, but he cannot taste any of the sugars on his tongue. “I am certain there are plenty other wines for you to choose from, back inside.”

“Ah, that’s fine.” Claude winks at him. “One of us should probably keep their wits about him.” 

Dimitri snorts, shaking his head. 

“I should thank you, though,” he tells Claude, swirling the dregs still at the bottom of his glass. “Suggesting this feast… it was a wonderful idea, after such a strenuous battle.”

“It’s what I’m used to.” Claude shrugs. “After a big battle, win or lose, you have a feast. In a real battle, it’s to honor the sacrifices of the fallen or to celebrate your victory, but…”

“But here,” Dimitri says, “it is… a nice reminder that even though we have just done battle, with winners and losers, the differences between us are quite negligible.” He looks up at the skies above them, the stars that shine overhead. “It is an important thing for us to remember.”

“Yeah,” Claude says, after a bit of a stunned silence. “Yeah, that’s…” He clears his throat. “It’s a nice thought, Dimitri.”

He comes to stand beside him, both looking up at the stars, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Though, you know,” Claude continues after a minute or so, “you _did_ win. You give any more thought to sharing the prize with me?”

Dimitri cannot help but laugh at Claude’s brazenness. 

“How am I to share a blessed lance?” Dimitri shakes his head. “Divide it in twain? Or in thirds?”

“We had an agreement—”

“We did not,” Dimitri says, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “We had you, trying to make a last-ditch bargain on the battlefield, and me refusing to fall for your tricks.”

“Aw, come on,” Claude pouts. “You had an unfair advantage and everything. The Lion Star is bright tonight—”

“The _what_?”

“The…” Claude sighs, tugging slightly at Dimitri’s gauntleted wrist. “Come here. I’ll show you.”

He leads Dimitri a short distance into the courtyard behind the dining hall, off the stone path into the grassy area, before giving Dimitri a meaningful look and sitting down, flopping onto his back. Dimitri carefully sets his cup down on the sidewalk before joining him, lying stiffly at Claude’s side with his hands folded on his stomach.

“Look, just there.” Claude points at the skies above them, at a particularly bright star that forms part of what Dimitri knows to be the constellation Leo. “That’s the Lion Star. When it shines like that, it’s a signifier of the strength of kings.” Claude turns to give Dimitri a meaningful look. “And since you’re the future king of Faerghus…”

Dimitri frowns, slightly perplexed. His head is spinning — perhaps from the wine, perhaps from letting the blood rush to his head as he lies down… perhaps from being so close to Claude. The physical distance Dimitri typically maintains from others is deliberate, carefully maintained. Claude manhandling him, lying on the ground inches from him… it is unfamiliar territory. 

“I’ve never heard of this before,” he tells Claude. “Where did you learn such a thing?”

“Oh, here and there.” Claude looks back up at the stars, and Dimitri does the same. “So, the Lion Star definitely gave the Blue Lions the advantage today. Maybe next time, we ought to fight when the Archer is high in the sky. Even the playing field a little.”

Dimitri snorts almost against his will. “Ah, of course. The stars must be in position for your victory. How foolish of me.”

“We can win without stellar intercession, thank you very much.” Claude chuckles. Then Dimitri feels him shift on the ground beside him, tucking his arms behind his head. “The stars are serious business, though. You know they look almost the same, no matter where you are in the world? I think that’s important. I…” He stutters, then starts again. “I wish more things were like that, sometimes.”

Dimitri lies still, contemplating this. “As do I.”

“Mm.”

The two of them lie there in silence, Dimitri turning over the things Claude has said. There is a sudden burst of laughter from inside the dining hall, drawing Claude’s attention. Dimitri watches him look.

“Will you not go back inside?” he asks Claude. “This is your feast, after all. Certainly you must be missed.”

“No… no, not yet.” Claude fidgets for a moment, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Dimitri frowns at him. 

“Claude?”

“Oh, I just…” Claude glances away. “I came out here in the first place because I wanted to give you something. Sort of a, um, token.”

Dimitri blinks, intrigued. “Oh?” He turns toward him in the grass, feeling too comfortable to sit up. “That’s kind of you.”

“Yeah, well…” Claude takes a deep breath. “Where I’m from, I guess it’s a tradition between warriors that, um, fight in a duel. To show that there are no hard feelings, to reinforce the fellowship that comes from fighting…” He raises his hand, letting it fall to his side. “That sort of thing.”

Dimitri thinks he understands… and he supposes that, technically, he and Claude had fought a duel earlier, on Gronder Field. That moment where Claude had tried to barter for his team’s victory, just before Dimitri had defeated him. 

“I know there are no hard feelings,” he tells Claude. “If there were, I would not be out here with you tonight.”

“I know that, but it’s tradition. Can…” Claude sits halfway up, looking frustrated. “Can I just show you?”

“Show me wh—”

His question is cut off by a pair of lips pressing against his. Claude is— he’s actually _kissing_ him, Claude’s mouth is on his, his lips exactly as soft as Dimitri’d always imagined they would be.

Wait— when in the Goddess’s name has he ever pictured how soft Claude’s mouth might be?

Dimitri barely reacts. He barely has time to; Claude is pulling away almost as quickly as he’d descended, biting his bottom lip as he looks into Dimitri’s eyes. 

“There,” he says, his hands fluttering nervously in his lap. “Tradition.”

Dimitri can barely breathe. Can barely move, can barely think. Claude had kissed him… had actually kissed him, here, under the stars, his mouth on Dimitri’s. It had been so chaste, so brief, but… 

Dimitri has never wanted anything so keenly.

“…not any tradition I’m aware of,” he mumbles, aware of the color that’s flooded his cheeks. He has to fight the urge to hide it, wondering if making him this flustered was Claude’s motive all along.

“Right.” Claude presses a hand against his own cheek, like he’s trying to hide something. Is he blushing? It’s too dark for Dimitri to tell. “Well, anyway.”

He makes to get up, but Dimitri puts a hand on his arm. 

“Claude.”

He wants to ask if this is another gambit, if he’s trying to get a rise out of Dimitri the same way he had on the battlefield earlier today. If it’s a part of a larger scheme that Dimitri has yet to grasp the true intention behind.

But Claude’s eyes meet his then and there’s… fear there, and vulnerability, things that Dimitri has never seen from Claude. Dimitri knows he can’t hope to understand every facet of Claude’s mind, but those emotions… Claude isn’t that good an actor. He is much like Dimitri in that sense: he masks his true emotions, rather than inventing new ones to fool people with. 

Dimitri understands this much, right now: This is not a ritual Claude is enacting with him, some arcane tradition from the Alliance that Dimitri has never heard of. It is not some payment for his loss at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

Dimitri also understands this: He very badly wants to do it again. 

He leans up, gently tracing Claude’s jawline with his fingertips. 

“No hard feelings,” he murmurs, before leaning in for another kiss. It’s soft at first, letting Claude pull away if he wants to… but then Claude presses in, his mouth hot and wet against Dimitri’s, a lone desperate whimper escaping his throat as he clutches at Dimitri’s shoulder. 

Dimitri has always wanted this, he realizes faintly as he clings to Claude. He has so little experience with kissing as to be almost laughable… but he has wanted Claude von Riegan to kiss him for longer than just this evening. It is not an impulse borne of the alcohol he has consumed… Rather, perhaps it has made it easier, turned off the parts of his brain that constantly scream at him about propriety and honor. That insist upon maintaining the distance between himself and others. 

There is little distance between himself and Claude now. Every time their lips part — for air, or perhaps with the thought that they should leave and return to the feast — something always pulls them back in to taste each other, to learn the shapes of each other’s mouths. Claude kisses with a desperation that rivals his own, not the cool detachment that Dimitri had expected. _Please_ , Claude is saying with his kisses, with his body, _please, please like me,_ and Dimitri is certain that the message is echoed by his own body. 

Dimitri does not know what the future holds. Does not know if, in the morning, Claude will still want to kiss him like this, or if their respective nations will approve of this match, or if their friends and professors will understand what has drawn them together.

But tonight, Claude is in his arms, drenched in starlight, showing Dimitri that he cares for him, and Dimitri will hold onto this feeling for as long he can keep it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so parts of this are... super old... but here are a couple footnotes:  
> \- Persian astrology has four "royal stars," one of them being Regulus (one of the brightest stars in the constellation Leo). Wikipedia said something about Regulus being a powerful star relating to the destiny of kings and major events in history, so I was like "sure, fuck it" and decided that was part of Almyran lore. Dimitri isn't familiar with this because it's not a thing in Fodlan astrology.  
> \- More quote-unquote "Almyran lore" based off of shoddy Wikipedia information: the idea of warriors kissing before an important battle. Which, like, may not be at all historically accurate, but I decided it was cute, so here we are. 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/apostaroni)


End file.
